Save Tonight
by Ashlala93
Summary: Words left unsaid have haunted Murphy MacManus for the last eight years. When he and his brother return to Boston, will it already be too late? Murphy MacManus/OC oneshot.


"Not yet... Not yet... Ahh, _now!_"

The words were barely out of his mouth when, in a flash of red hair, pale skin and bare breasts, she leapt off of his erection and fell to her knees on the mattress beside him, bending her head and taking him between her soft, pink lips.

A long, low groan rose from his chest as he felt himself release into her mouth. She helped him along, alternating between gentle sucking and swirling her talented tongue around his throbbing head. His fingers buried themselves in her hair, tugging lightly as the last few drops left him. Lying flat on his back, his blue eyes squeezed shut as he willed his breathing to return to it's normal pace.

"Ahh, that's right, lass." he cooed softly, his fingers still gently running through her thick scarlett curls. "Get all of it, there's a good girl."

He felt her chuckle softly against him as she released him from the warm, wet confines of her mouth. She sat back on her haunches before crawling her way up his naked form, peppering small kisses here and there on the way. She wound herself around him as much as was humanly possible, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck with a quiet, satisfied moan.

Opening his eyes, Murphy grinned up at the ceiling before turning his gaze to the figure curled up against him. He reached across himself, his fingers finding her chin and tilting her face up towards his. She met his eyes with a sly smirk of her own, and he leaned forward, covering her lips with his own, tasting himself on her and reveling in it.

"So how was it?" he asked finally, his voice still shaky as he struggled to get his heart rate back under control. "Everythin' you dreamed of?"

She raised her head from where it had settled on his chest, her eyebrow cocked as she chuckled at him.

"Bit full of yourself, aren't you?" she shot back, barely missing a beat.

"It's not polite to answer a question with a question." he pointed out with a smirk as he wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders, pulling her in closer.

She laughed and lay her head back on his chest, her fingers dancing lightly over the tattoo over his nipple, raising goosebumps on his skin under her touch.

"Eight years and you never lost that witty charm." she remarked quietly. "You always have an answer, don't you? See, this is why I kept you around, MacManus."

It was Murphy's turn to laugh now as he placed a kiss atop her head.

"And here I was thinkin' it was me staggerin' good looks and prowess between the sheets." he joked, his fingers trailing up and down her arm.

She snuggled closer to him.

"I missed you." she admitted softly, her voice so quiet that he wasn't sure he'd heard her at first.

He sighed and squeezed her shoulders, turning his head so that the top of her's rested under his chin.

"I missed you, too." he assured her, his voice barely above a whisper.

She had always been there for him. Through everything that was said and done, he had always been able to count on her. She never questioned him. Never begged him to reconsider or stop what he was doing. Never demanded to know exactly what was going on. She was happy with the information she was given and, when he left, she would kiss his cheek, tell him to be safe and, when he got back, she would be waiting with open arms (and legs) to make him feel better.

He had known her a lot longer than any of that had been going on, though. Even before it all, she had been more than happy to cheer him up after a shitty day at work, or an argument with his brother. Not emotionally available enough to be called his girlfriend, but just enough to be considered more than a drunken late-night booty call.

She had been barely eighteen when they had met. He was twenty-four, Irish and drunk on Saint Paddy's Day. She had been seated up at the bar at McGinty's with a fake ID in her pocket, a giggly girlfriend on either side and four empty shot glasses in front of her. Her red hair had been longer then, almost down to her waist. He had noticed it the moment he and Connor had walked through the door, and it had kept his attention all night. He had liked the way it whipped around like dancing flames when she laughed, or how it tumbled down her back when she threw down a shot.

He especially liked the way it contrasted with the hint of black lace that rose up over the back of her skin-tight jeans whenever she leaned forward to signal Doc for another drink.

It hadn't been long before his brother had noticed him staring at the girl and dragged him up to the bar to talk to her.

_"Evenin', Lass! How does this fine Saint Paddy's Day find ya?"_

She had turned on her barstool, emerald eyes taking the brothers in quietly. Both her friends had dissolved into another fit of giggles at the attention of the two older men, but she kept her cool, head cocked to the side as she surveyed them. Without a word, she had turned back to the bar, downed the shot in front of her and then spun on her seat to face them once more, a flush to her pale cheeks from the Jameson she had been drinking all night.

_"Let's cut to the chase, boys."_ she had said, her soft Irish lilt clashing with the harsh tone of her words. _"Which of you am I takin' me clothes off for?"_

At this point, Murphy's face had gone red with embarrassment, and Connor's with laughter. Both boys had immediately decided they liked her. They had signalled Doc for another round of shots and proceeded to get eye-rollingly, pants-wettingly, stranger-fuckingly drunk together. At the end of the night, the three of them had stumbled back to the boys' loft, Connor almost immediately passing out on his mattress while Murphy lay on his, panting and moaning as he lost himself to the soft skin, long legs and wet folds of the girl riding his lap.

There had been a brief moment of regret the next morning when the brothers had discovered her age _("Eight-fuckin'-teen!? Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, girl!")_, but it had been quickly quashed when she reminded them that she was, in fact, legal, naked and waiting on a proper wake-up, at which point Connor had grinned, slapped his brother on the back and slipped out onto the fire escape for a cigarette while the pair inside fell back onto the mattress in the throes of another passionate embrace.

After that, she and Murphy had continued to meet up a couple of times a week, sometimes at his place, sometimes at hers and occasionally in whichever public venue would afford them the most privacy on the days that they just couldn't wait. She had always made it clear that, while she was available to lend an ear to his woes or for a roll in the sheets, she wasn't interested in being tied down. They both knew they were free to see other people. Murphy had never bothered, though. She provided him with the sympathetic ear he sometimes needed, and the physical contact he had come to crave from her. He didn't mind if she was sleeping with other men although, unbeknownst to him, she wasn't.

She was the first person he had gone to after he and Connor went into business. He had given her the basic gist of what he and his brother were doing and, though he could tell she was curious she never pressed for further details. He had never met a woman who could just listen without putting in her own two cents before, especially not one as young as her current twenty-one years, but listen she did as he unloaded his feelings on her and, when he couldn't talk anymore, she had taken him into her arms and then her bed. She had never brought up what he and Connor did unless he mentioned it first, and she never judged him, for which he was thankful. In the end, he was coming to her before and after a job. She would give him the courage to go through with it and then take away any fleeting guilt he might have felt afterwards.

When he, his brother and their father had been forced to flee the country, he had barely had time to duck around to her apartment to say goodbye. He had expected tears, but she gave him none. She merely nodded and told him she understood. She then shucked off her towel (he had interrupted her shower) and gave him the ride of his life before he left. Although he hadn't known it at the time, he realised years later when he was living safe in the old country that it was her way of telling him she'd miss him.

And now she was telling him in person. The murder of a priest had brought the MacManus brothers back to Boston and, after taking care of a few minor details with Connor and their new accomplice, he had headed around to her old apartment, hoping she hadn't moved. When she opened the door to him, they had recognised one another instantly. She had definitely aged. A quick sum done in his head told him that she must be nearly thirty by now. There were lines in the corners of her brilliant green eyes, which were framed by black-rimmed glasses that she hadn't needed last time he had seen her, but she was still beautiful. Her startlingly red hair was just as thick and lustrous as he remembered it, and she had cut it to just between her shoulder blades. It still fell in bouncy curls though and, without words, he reached through her front door and wound one of them around his finger. She had smiled and beckoned him over the threshold, closing the door behind him and leading him through to her bedroom, which hadn't changed a bit.

Still not a word exchanged between them, they both disrobed and fell into one another hungrily, as though no time at all had passed. He still remembered all her weak spots as if it was just yesterday. He knew exactly what to do, where to kiss, how hard to squeeze to make her squirm beneath him and purr like a contented kitten. Then, when her hair was a tousled mess and her breathing was left short and uneven from his ministrations, he lay back against the headboard and let her ride him the way he knew she liked to, jumping off at the last possible second to swallow him down.

And now, she lay in his arms just the way she used to. The playful banter and repressed emotions between them felt comfortable. It wasn't until just now that he realised how much he had missed it. He had always loved her readiness to give her body to him, but her emotional unavailability had always been something that had left him wondering. Still though, she had never pushed him to reveal details of his own personal life, so he would afford her that same courtesy and just let it be.

Instead he sighed, shifting beside her so that they lay facing eachother. She gave him that sleepy smile that he loved so much and he pulled her to him.

"I mean it, y'know." he told her quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She squirmed against him, her naked flesh grazing the fine hairs on his chest.

"So do I." she replied.

There were a few moments of silence, and then...

"So how come you never found yourself a fella? I expected to come back and find you married with a couple of flame-haired babes runnin' around the place." he admitted.

She pushed herself back from him, gazing up into his face, looking for the joke that wasn't there. Sighing, she settled herself back against his chest.

"I told you how I felt about being tied down."

He shrugged, looking down at her.

"That was almost twelve years ago." he pointed out. "Long time to be alone. I should know."

She chuckled in spite of herself before speaking again.

"Murph, you know I love you." she told him, her voice low as she rolled to face away from him, unwilling to face rejection if it came, although she allowed his arm to remain in place around her middle.

He continued to gaze down at her, cocking his eyebrow in confusion.

"Actually, that's news to me." he corrected her, feeling her shift uncomfortably under his arm.

"Well... I do." she continued, the embarrassment evident in her voice. "Didn't want to. Just... happened."

"When?" he asked, willing himself to keep the conversation casual even though his heartbeat was picking up at an alarming rate.

She shrugged.

"A few years after I met you." she admitted, still uncomfortable. "I... I was going to say something."

He felt her disengage completely from his embrace, pulling herself into a sitting position, her knees pressed against her chest. He scooted over closer to her, placing a kiss on her shoulder before resting his head there, his fingers tracing patterns up and down her legs.

"Why didn't you?" he asked her, his voice husky with unspoken words and repressed feelings.

She sighed and shrugged again.

"How could I?" she countered. "I was all ready to do it, then you come round that same afternoon and tell me that you and your brother are... executioners for God, and... I didn't know how to follow that one up, so I did what I always did."

Murphy nodded understandingly.

"Took your clothes off and opened your legs." he finished for her, not an ounce of malice in his words. The pair of them were nothing if not blunt with one another.

She blew air out through her nose, attempting a chuckle but not really meaning it.

"Yeah." she confirmed. "And the whole time, even with you inside me I was thinking _'this man could wind up dead any day now. Then how do I deal?'._ So I kept me fuckin' mouth shut."

Murphy didn't say anything. What was there to say? Instead, he placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back down beside him, his mouth finding hers. Her hands automatically went to his head, her fingers burying themselves in his hair as he rolled on top of her, his arousal already growing between her thighs.

She gave a pleasurable sigh as his hands found purchase on her hips, his lips trailing down her neck to her breasts, taking one into his mouth, sucking gently on the extended pink nub that topped it off. She threw her head head back against the pillows and moaned, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his narrow waist, his hardened length slipping past her slick folds and bottoming out inside her. She heard him gasp against her breast at the sudden contact, a grin forming on his face around her nipple.

She bit her lip, barely suppressing a moan as he began to move his hips against hers, his head not leaving her breast. She tugged lightly on his dark hair before moving her hands to his shoulders, forcing him to surface for air as she pulled his face up to hers. She pressed her lips against his hungrily, a quiet mewl escaping her as his angle inside of her changed and he brushed against things that had been neglected for far too long.

"Oh, God!" she cried, arching into him as he increased the speed of his strokes. "Murphy!"

He grunted above her as he continued thrusting, the sound of his name rolling off her tongue spurring him on. He leaned back slightly and grabbed one of her ankles, hooking her leg higher up around his waist without once breaking from the steady rhythm he had fallen into. She had never been concerned about fast and hard when they were in bed together (although that was inevitably how it had always happened as their lust had always outweighed the need for it to last), but he knew she liked him to go deep, so that was exactly what he did.

His strokes were long and even, his pace quick but not frantic. She writhed and moaned beneath him, her green eyes squeezed tightly shut and her soft lips parted slightly as her left hand grasped his bicep, her nails biting into his skin with a glorious sting that only served to spur him on further.

It wasn't long before she began to come undone underneath him. Her head fell back into the pillow, which she stuffed into her mouth to smother her moans and gasps, which were increasing steadily in volume and frequency. He frowned and lifted a hand off the bed, tugging the pillow away from her face. After eight years of torturous sexual solitude, he wanted nothing more than to hear her fall apart for him.

And fall apart she did.

"Oh, god, don't stop!" she cried under him, her voice reduced to pleasure-induced sobs. "Fuck, Murphy! Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck!"

He couldn't help but grin to himself as he plowed on, riding out her orgasm and shuddering when he felt her walls convulse around him. Finally, he could hold out no longer. With a grunt and a moan, he slammed home one last time, finding glorious release within her tight, warm, accommodating body. He continued thrusting against her until he was spent and then allowed himself to collapse on top of her, gasping for breath against her sweat-slicked skin.

As the post-euphoric fuzz faded from his mind, he became aware of her fingers running through his hair again while he continued to rest it on her chest, her heart beating rapidly in his ear. From their very first encounter, she had seemed to understand that he needed a few moments to gather himself after his climax, and she respected that rather than bombarding him with questions straightaway like the other girls he had been with in his life. [i]"How was that? Did you like it? Did I do anything wrong?" _None of that from _his_ girl._

Slowly, hesitantly, he raised his head to look up at her. She was gazing at him with a Mona Lisa smile and a look in her eyes that he couldn't quite place. In that moment, those deep pools that he could happily spend forever lost in seemed greener than they ever had before, and there was a sparkle behind them that made his heart leap slightly.

Slowly, he raised the rest of his body and crawled up further beside her, her hand falling from his hair to his shoulder when he finally rested his head in the crook of her arm, his face instinctively nuzzling into his neck.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Lass." he spoke finally, breathlessly, the words vibrating against the tender skin of her throat. "Twice in one night. You tryin' to kill me?"

She gave the soft chuckle he loved so much and inched closer to him.

"Didn't hear you complainin'. Besides, it's not exactly a record for us." she pointed out, making him grin at the memories that came flooding back. "If I remember correctly, we once spent twenty-four hours in this very bed. Went a lot more than twice."

He laughed against her and threw an arm over her pale, flat stomach.

"Aye, but that was a long time ago." he told her. "I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Are any of us?" she sighed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them, and Murphy felt her breathing begin to even out as sleep started to claim her. Feelings stirred within him. Being this close to her for the first time in eight years gave him courage he knew would be gone by morning, so it was now or never.

"I do too, y'know." he said softly, his lips brushing against her neck as he spoke.

She turned her head wearily towards him, her eyes heavy and tired-looking.

"You do what?" she asked, her voice throaty as she fought against her drowsiness, wanting to hear what he had to say.

"Y'know... Love you." he said, unsure of himself. "Thought about it a lot while I was away."

She gave him a sleepy smile and pulled him closer to her.

"Can't believe it took you bein' away for so long for us to be able to say it." she told him. "But I'm happy we did."

He smiled.

"So am I." he assured her.

More silence, and then...

"So if I know you, you came back for a reason."

"Aye." he confirmed, not elaborating.

And she was happy with that.

"Well, just know I'm still here if you ever need anything." she said, allowing her foot to brush up his leg.

"I'll keep that in mind."

She smiled and wrapped herself around him as much as she could, reveling in the feeling of their bare skin pressed together in the darkness. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder as he drifted off to sleep and then rested her head against his. She knew that, come morning, he would be gone. She knew she should take comfort in the fact that, this time, he would be coming back but she knew what he and his brother did. And, just like she had every time she had left her apartment eight years ago, she knew that this could very well be the last she saw of him. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind as she felt her eyes closing. She had finally gotten her man back and told him how she felt. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, so she was simply going to have to _save tonight_.

Just a quick note to remind you that I don't own anything recognisable from Troy Duffy's Boondock Saints. A girl can dream, though.


End file.
